Blood On Her Hands
by PunnyPunkin
Summary: Snow has a deadly weapon, a woman with as deadly as a coiled snake that only strikes when Snow says 'strike.' But like many deadly creatures, she is volatile and she may not be as easily controlled as Snow believes.
1. Chapter 1

Katniss swallowed the uncertainty and fear as she followed the Capitol man down the hall to the study. She had never once seen that door closed and the second she realized it, she no longer felt at home. Something was horribly wrong and she wasn't sure why until the door opened and the man gestured in. Katniss watched the Capitol man with uncertainty until he closed the door behind her and she saw a white haired man reading a book almost lazily. He held up a finger absently while telling her,

"Give me a moment." She felt her skin crawl as he spoke and the sudden scent of roses and blood registered stark fear in her mind. It took her only a moment to realize who the man was. President Snow. A man she had only seen in paintings, on the television, and in her darkest nightmares. Her mind began to race as did her heart. President Snow had never once left the Capitol. She had every reason to believe that Snow hated the Districts. He had never shown any interest in any of them until it was time for the Reaping and had never celebrated any occasion with any District, but there he stood in the home of a girl that had played his Games and his precious Capitol for fools. Only he knew the true meaning of her decision and how it really reflected on his Games and his Gamemakers, there would be little to no option of playing the 'crazed by love' card with this man.

A creaking caused every twisted nerve in Katniss to release in one very obvious jump as she quickly looked over to a corner. A chair she hadn't noticed had been propped between the connecting walls to Snow's left; a brimmed peaked cap was hiding the upper-half of a woman's face. She wore a large deep green buttoned jacket adorned with ornate gold badges and pins along the loose front ends, the brass buttons catching the light as she leaned further back in her chair, arms lazily draped over the back as if she hadn't a care in the world. Black polished boots clung to long legs clad in matching green trousers and the black undershirt she wore fit perfectly against her torso where silver tags hung on a thin chain. She was most definitely part of Snow's personal guard the highest ranking soldiers in the Capitol were reserved for Snow's guard and the Capitol's Peacekeepers.

She must have sensed Katniss' staring, or maybe she could somehow still see from under that dark polished brim, because her lips curled up ever so slightly on one side. Katniss suddenly realized how it must feel to be a rabbit caught in a wolves' ambush. She stood in a room with two of the most terrifying people Panem had to offer and she knew she was in trouble from the get-go. There was no other reason for Snow to travel all the way to District Twelve to what? Congratulate her on tricking him and the Gamemakers forcing there to be two Victors when there had always ever been one?

Katniss looked from Snow to the woman in the corner as the President slowly put his book aside and turned to face her, now she stared at him-hard. She remained unblinking and motionless; perhaps Snow was like the snakes he reminded her of. If she didn't move, who was to say he wouldn't see her? All she had to do was keep her ground and watch him as closely as she could possibly stand.

"I think we'll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie each other," he said, "What do you think?"

Katniss' mouth was dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she studied the man in front of her. He didn't look like a snake up close. His lips were overtly full and his skin tight but no scales. His eyes were that of a predator though. She's not sure how she managed the steady response of,

"Yes, I think that would save time." President Snow smiled, a haunting and monstrous turn of those too puffy lips that caused another wave of insects to seemingly crawl just under her skin.

"My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but you don't intend on being difficult do you?" he asked. Katniss replied with a curt,

"No."

"Oh good," Snow said as he took a seat at the desk. The woman shifted her feet, she had one ankle propped on her knee and so when Snow sat she had to shift so she wouldn't accidentally kick the President as he relaxed. "See, that's what I told them. I said any girl who would go to such lengths to preserve her own life wouldn't throw it away with both hands. And then there's her family to think of. Her mother, her sister and all those…cousins," he lingered on the word cousins implying he knew all about Gale. The woman to Snow's left scoffed with a knowing and very much amused smile as Snow went on, "And even if that were the case, you wouldn't be so inclined to test your strength against that of my personal guard now would you?" At that, the woman tilted her head up to glance at Snow and then smile at Katniss.

Now those were the eyes of poisonous snake, a shard and darkened green. The color of drying moss that held no concern, no worry or understanding just pure and undiluted preparation, hers were the eyes of a woman constantly ready to kill and possibly even anxious to do so. It was also just enough for Katniss to remember who the woman was. She was just a girl when she first saw those eyes peering from behind the bloody and torn body of a Tribute, blood dripping down that face six years younger than the one Katniss was looking at now. Ricochet Sanders from District 3.

Snow smiled again seeing the recognition on Katniss' face. The younger woman now knew, in great detail, how much trouble she truly was in and it was obvious that the ripple of punishment would spread to swallow her friends and family as well if she didn't play her cards right. He glanced to Ricochet, still lounging as if she hadn't a care but very capable of springing into action like a poised mountain lion or a coiled snake. She lifted her eyes off of Katniss to look at Snow with that upturn still on her pretty lips.

Ricochet was a natural sort of pretty as far as Katniss could tell, but more than pretty she was sneaky. Katniss distinctly remembered her winning the Games by a combination of appearance and manipulation and brute almost animalistic brutality. There wasn't anything in the Games that woman hadn't done to win, and once she did win when others just wanted to crawl back home and hide from shame and grief, she opted to join the Capitol Guard to further fight and kill to the President's specifications. There was no telling how much blood was on those pretty hands, but if Katniss didn't watch herself she knew for a fact she'd put more blood on them.

"Let's sit," Snow said as he took a seat at the large polished desk. Katniss hesitated only a moment before taking the seat across from him, all the while feeling those deadly eyes of Ricochet following her every move, every twitch of her eyes, every tremble of her hands. Katniss wouldn't be surprised if Ricochet could hear her heartbeat and was counting the beats just to monitor any remote change in Katniss' body. If Katniss so much as looked up too fast, there was little doubt Ricochet would have a blade in her neck before she could move any further.

Katniss sat in front of two venomous snakes, naked, and if it came down to it she wasn't sure who was deadlier. She had to be extremely careful and honest if she were to survive this and the worst part was that as she sat there terrified for the lives of her mother and Prim and Gale, Ricochet and Snow sat there as if it were just any other day and they were to talk about the weather.


	2. Chapter 2

Snow sat stood in front of the large window overlooking the Capitol and well into the mountains surrounding his Capitol. It was if he were in a nest, heavily guarded by nature itself, and as he pondered what this year's Quell would consist of he felt not a care in the world. He absently flexed stiff fingers as he tucked his hands neatly behind his lower back with a satisfied sigh. His office was one of the largest rooms in his mansion as he spent many hours in the dark red and gold room, lined with not only monitors but with long forgotten books. Maps of his Districts and his country were laid out carelessly on a hand-carved desk of the richest wood polished to the point of having its own light source. The richest area rug of the finest material added a regal atmosphere giving Snow more of royal atmosphere than that of a mere President. But of course, as in all places but especially the Capitol, image was everything.

Snow glanced to his left ever so slightly so he could see the reflection of his office in the crystalline glass. He could see his right-hand and personal guard Ricochet sitting lazily in a much homier arm chair, the only ugly thing in the office but also the only thing she would sit comfortably in. The stuffing was protruding from the loose stitching and the wood was worn and splitting along the back and legs, but the young woman lounged with her knees over an arm and a well-polished knife twirling between skilled fingers. She was a Victor at one time and now, at the tender age of twenty-two, she was the highest ranking soldier in Snow's personal guard. He knew there were at least a very few people he could trust with his life, what with the Districts beginning to consider rebellion as a hobby choice, and he was very selective in the men, and woman, he chose to place in life in the hands of. Ricochet had all but proved a very valuable choice with her strategic expertise and complete connectedness to everything around her had made her a very deadly opponent in the Games and has only strengthened in her training for the Capitol Guard. She was the most obedient of Snow's soldiers and never once seemed even remotely concerned with perceived right and wrong as so many others were falling into. She did as she was told, quickly, efficiently and with deadly precision. Snow couldn't have picked a better person to protect him and his endeavors.

"What do you think of these 'uprisings,' my dear Ricochet?" Snow asked slowly pivoting on his heel to study the dark haired woman in his office. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a tight knot that fit under her garrison cap causing her unusually moss colored eyes to shine when she glanced up at Snow with a fine arched eyebrow. She was just as beautiful in the Games as well; far too fine a beauty for Snow to have let waste away in the Districts. She stilled her twirling fingers to run a finger loosely along the blades edge in contemplation.

"We seem to be handling them well, you spoke with Everdeen and I think put the scare of a lifetime in her," she replied simply, "Without a face for this so-called rebellion their fire will be out soon, either on their own accord or by ours," she finished with a hapless shrug. Either option worked for her. She didn't care what happened in the Districts, her job was in the Capitol, in that very office with that very man. As long as the Districts kept their unrest in their boarders she didn't care, it was only if that unrest flowed into the Capitol that she would worry.

Snow, on the other hand, was not as easily convinced the uprisings would be so easy to diffuse. The problematic Katniss Everdeen was still breathing and even if she feared for the lives of people she loved there was still the chance she had done too much already. He would not allow a civil war or a coup to occur under his reign. Panem was his country and its people under his rule, there would be no coup if he did not allow it and he would not allow it.

"If you were in my position, what would you do?" Snow asked out of mere curiosity. He took long and prideful steps across the carpet to his desk, spreading a map of the new Arena out under his hands to admire the ingenuity of his newest Game Master. Plutarch had outdone himself with the new layout for an Arena, it would certainly do very well for the awaited Quell and Snow only had to think of a unique and genius plan for Tributes. He had already demanded twice the Tributes and this Quell had to be more spectacular, more heartbreakingly brilliant than even that.

"if I were you, President Snow," she started while sliding her knife back into the holder at her right thigh, "there probably wouldn't be a Panem."

Snow glanced at her with an eyebrow quirked, but when he saw that usual half smile on his Guard's lips he knew what she meant and he spared her a laugh. Ricochet had a very simple way of dealing with people. If someone did something she did not approve of, she made damn sure they couldn't do it again. He had at least five soldiers in the Infirmary because they had said or done something not to Ricochet's liking. Yes, if she were in President Snow's shoes there was a very likely possibility that there would be no Panem but merely Ricochet on a throne sitting amongst nothing but rubble. She had a low tolerance for people, which was why Snow trusted her solely with his life.

Only a person with no regard for human life would protect him. He knew this and hired accordingly.

"I suppose I see your point," Snow said as he turned back to the map and straightened. He had to think of a topic for this year's Quell. He had to announce it shortly and had yet to think of anything that would draw in more viewers than the last. He glanced at Ricochet once more, she was fiddling with one of her rankings absently bouncing a foot. She was so much a child in so many ways, distracted by shiny objects and annoyed by simple ticks, but beneath that lay dormant a monster of unspeakable cruelty and precision. She had brought in a great many viewers and he had heard talk of her as recently as the previous day. "Ricochet, have you given thought to being in the Games once more?" he asked with an air of disinterest. He feigned distraction by reading over the various trials and tricks the Tributes this year would have to face as Ricochet looked up at him. He could hear the smile in her voice as she dared to tease,

"I don't think I fit the age restrictions any longer, Mr. President."

"No, no you don't any longer do you?" he mumbled to himself. An idea began to form and he suddenly turned on his heel to face Ricochet completely, she immediately sat up straighter and dropped the button she had been fiddling with as he tilted his head at her, "Tell me Ricochet, what Games do you recall most? The Tributes you recall?" Ricochet furrowed her eyebrows confusedly for a moment before she offered a heavy shrug.

"Uh well, Beetee comes to mind, but that may be because he's from my District. Katniss and Peeta of course, Finnick Odair-,"

"Ah, have a fondness for Odair do we, Ricochet?" Snow asked with a knowing smile. Ricochet lifted her gaze to Snow's with that half smile on her lips as she simply replied,

"You asked who struck to my mind. I am merely answered what Victors come to mind."

"Victors? You don't recall any others, just the Victors?" Snow asked mildly intrigued. Ricochet shrugged again only adding a slight nod of her head.

"I don't recall the losers, they were weak and therefore not worth remembering. The Capitol and its viewers want Victors not losers," she replied going back to her button. Snow felt a smile creep into his lips as he turned back and hurried to scribble down the new rules for the Quell.

"I hope your answer to my previous question would have been a resounding 'yes,' Ricochet," he told her while picking the order up and turning to her. She slowly pulled her feet off the arm of her chair to study Snow curiously as he waved the order at her teasingly. His eyes seemed to darken and she felt as though the smell of blood strengthened while he spoke, "This year's Quell is for the Victors and you, my dear girl, are going to be in them."


	3. Chapter 3

Ricochet's eyes were glistening as she slowly tilted her head, weighing Snow to see if the man was capable of joking. Although it would have been a cruel prank, telling her she'd be allowed back into the Arena just to laugh and inform her she was too old, but then he handed her the order form for the Quell describing the new rules and requirements and Ricochet got the closest to squealing like a school girl she had ever been. Snow had decreed that the Tributes for that year's Quell would be solely pooled from the Districts' Victors which meant, even though she worked for Snow, she would be in the running. And with the way Snow spoke, she would most certainly be chosen in the drawing to incite excitement and worry in the crowd of viewers.

"Wait, if I go into the Arena, who will protect you?" she asked lifting her head to where the elderly President stood. He chuckled, a deep raspy sort of rumbling in his chest, as he gently lifted her chin. Ricochet felt a slight tremble in the gnarled finger of the President as he held her head up so their eyes locked. He leaned in a bit too close for comfort, the smell of blood swarming her nose and only vaguely subdued by the over potent rose he wore on his lapel.

"I will have all my troubles in that Arena with you, my sweet Ricochet," he cooed almost affectionately. Ricochet kept her expression blank but felt her eyes tighten a bit in an inquisitive squint. "Your job is to neutralize each and every threat I may have here, there," he clarified and it clicked.

Katniss Everdeen.

She was the only female Victor in District Twelve. If Snow did in fact decree that all Tributes were to be chosen from former Victors then Katniss would have no other choice but to be forced as Tribute once more, and in Snow's mind if there was no Katniss Everdeen there would be no more civil unrest. Of course, she had until the end of the Victor's Tour to change Snow's mind as he would not announce anything until the Quell neared in a couple more months.

Ricochet flashed her usual half smile, her eyes twinkling as she gave a slight nod. She couldn't quite move in a decisive nod seeing has how Snow still had a hold on her chin and was still too close for her comfort.

"I will make sure that anyone that would have caused any upset in the present or future will not walk out of that Arena, Mr. President," she promised with the tone of perfect steadiness and confidence. Snow smiled and tilted her chin down to press his all too puffy lips against her forehead, as a father would a daughter but there was a subtle affection that was too strong for Ricochet's liking. He lingered too long and when he was done kissing her forehead, he looked into her eyes too long with a sparkle she was not used to seeing in his cold and uncaring gaze.

"That's a good girl," he said releasing her from his hold and walking to his desk. "Now leave me and send Plutarch in, I need to discuss this new Arena with him."

Ricochet bent at her waist, arms straight at her sides and level with the floor as was custom for entering and leaving Snow's presence. Once she straightened, she adjusted her garrison cap and turned on heel to walk out of the office. Snow looked over his shoulder to watch her leave, but before she could close the door behind her he remembered something.

"Isn't it your birthday, Ricochet?" he asked turning slightly to face her as she paused and looked at him.

"Sir?"

"You turn twenty-two today don't you?" he clarified absently stroking a pen between his fingers. Ricochet glanced at his hand, oddly petting the pen as he studied her, and she gave a curt nod.

"I believe it is, Mr. President."

"We will have to celebrate," he told her thoughtfully. He lifted his head and turned back to his desk, now pondering how to go about celebrating the birthday of his most prized soldier. And who would be able to attend an event on such short notice. Ricochet waited a moment to see if there was anything else, but then just pulled the door closed behind her and found herself looking at one of the Peacekeepers guarding the door of Snow's office.

"What?" she snapped a bit harshly. The man quickly straightened and looked straight ahead rather than say something that would encourage Ricochet to practice her higher ranking privileges. She rolled her eyes, more and more unhappy with the cowardice of Snow's soldiers, as she said, "Plutarch Heavensbee will be on his way here shortly, be sure he makes it without trouble yes?"

"Yes, ma'am," the Peacekeeper said with an obedient nod. He was older than Ricochet by quite some years and had some weight on her. If it came to blows, for whatever reason, the only reason Ricochet would win is her innate ability to read her opponents and hit vital areas before they lay a blow on her. She was quick and she was smart, a combination that made her a survivor rather than a dead unknown face on a screen.

Ricochet nodded to the man and started down the stairs towards her own room. She had a room in Snow's mansion because she needed to be minutes away from him at any given moment and so he bedroom was as close to the center of the entire building as it could be for the sole purpose of he being able to reach Snow wherever in the house he may be. The architects had been geniuses with their building skills however. Her room was suspended over the foyer in a dome roofed apartment that had an elevator to every level of the mansion. The floor of the dome posed as a mosaic of the finest art for guests and allowed Ricochet the strongest privacy.

It was as if there was an apartment inside a mansion and anyone that did not know Ricochet would have been none the wiser as to what the large sparkling dome hid under its rounded protection. Ricochet was pulling the metal pins from her tightly wound hair and letting the thick dark tresses fall loosely around her shoulders. The elevator doors slid open revealing her sitting area and she walked over to the lone couch, sliding her jacket off and lazily tossing it to the couch before pulling the tank over her head and tossing it aside. The cold metal of her name tags hit the sensitive skin just below her bra line and she felt goosebumps bubble along her torso while walking into her bathroom.

The stunning white tiles were muted by the dark green and black glass tiles in alternating patterns along the floor. Her walls were a warm olive green and all the appliances a dully polished silver. The lights didn't buzz as they did in the Districts and once she set the shower to her liking, she continued undressing.

She pulled her tags off her neck, dropping them onto the marble countertop around her sink, and yanked her heavy boots off. The made hollow sounds as she tossed them out of the steam filling room and then yanked the belts off her tiny waist. She swiped a hand over the mirror to study herself. She hadn't aged much at all in the six years that had passed since her turn in the Games, but the smooth skin she had been so envied for no longer ran as unmarred. A deep scar ran from her left shoulder blade down to curve around to just above her belly button, she had refused to let any surgeon fix the scar although Snow had offered her the option many times. She ran her fingers over the tail end of that prominent scar and then the one over her right breast. A Tribute had hoped to stab her heart and only managed a shallow stab in the wrong side before she buried a gutting knife in her skull.

Minor scars stood pale against her slightly tanned skin, but for the most part her body had remained untouched since. A few scars were from training or the few assassination attempts she neutralized. Snow's life had been almost ended a few more times than anyone knew about; most thought her job was just to appease Snow's vanity at thinking he was important enough to want to kill but in all actuality his life was very much at stake every day. There were quite a few more than just a couple people upset with Snow's presidency and it was only Ricochet who stood in the way of that correction.

She pushed off the sink and pulled her under clothes off before stepping into the vanilla scented steam of her shower. The hot water instantly dragged every minor ache and discomfort right out of her, dragging it off down her body to swirl down the drain along with her thoughts of the day. Her scalp gave mild protests as the water weighed her thick hair down, having her hair up and so tightly wound all day always left her with a minor headache and a sore scalp. She allowed the vanilla scent to counteract the blood and roses scent still lingering in her hair and on her skin as she furiously scrubbed a lather onto her skin. The lather contained tiny little beads that roughly scrubbed loose and dead skin as well as dirt and grime off her body leaving her fresh and smooth once she rinsed off.

Makeup, sweat and the day all washed away as Ricochet lathered and pampered herself with lotions and washes and all the pleasant scented everything she could find. If Snow did somehow manage a sort of gathering to celebrate her birthday, she was going to do her best to look as if she actually belonged in the Capitol. Guard or no Guard she was still a woman and she still found minor comfort in knowing she looks her best, and since she wears a uniform day in and day out she was anxious to test her girlish whims on dressing herself and making herself look stunning.

Even Snow's personal Guard had hopes of someday meeting the right man, and if she was lucky he'd find her more attractive with a knife in her hand rather than her standing in heels. She still had priorities and she didn't want a pretty man for a pretty woman. She wanted a man that could as easily kill her as love her. A real man.

A Victor's Man.


	4. Chapter 4

Ricochet turned her shower off and wrapped a short but heavy towel around her small frame. She tucked the end between the towel and her skin before she swiped a hand across the fogged mirror to see her now tangled and curly hair. Her eyes seemed darker to her, maybe lifeless was a better term, but she ignored that part of her reflection and allowed the hot hair to fall from the top of her mirror and tear through her hair. Her hair dried straight and full, the thick tresses owning a healthy sheen as she gently tossed her head allowing the hair to reach each strand.

The water stopped dripping along her arms and torso by the time hair was completely dried. All that was left to go to her room and find something suitable to wear, then again she wasn't even sure Snow was planning anything so she was left with two options. Dress for bed and hope she won't get a summons or go ahead and be ready for a summons to some sort of banquet and just complain and curse if one doesn't come and she has to take yet another shower.

She turned her head to absently shake her fingers through her newly dried hair, pulling tangles loose as she walked into her sitting room with nothing but the dark red towel around her middle. She paused when she saw a man sitting on her couch, a magazine lazily opened on his knee as he drummed his fingers along the back of her seat. He had neatly folded her coat and top and laid them on the table in front of him and obviously hadn't heard her walk in, or he was ignoring her. Neither really made her feel any better about some man in her apartment.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked bluntly as she narrowed her eyes at the man. She didn't feel he was a threat which for him was the luckiest thing that will probably happen in his life, had she felt even the slightest threat in his presence he would've been dead before he even knew she was out of the shower.

The man turned to look over his shoulder, a charming smile on his lips as he eyed her from her head down to the puddle of water slowly collecting around her feet. He put the magazine back on her table before standing. He was taller than she was, and strong. Broad shoulders and shimmering bronze hair, when he looked at her with sea colored eyes she knew who he was and had a guess as to why he was there.

"I'm here to make your birthday fantasies come true," he cooed while brushing his knuckles down her smooth cheek. She shifted her eyes to eye his caress then looked at him, that charming smile catching her a bit off guard. She kept her eyes on his sea colored orbs her mind painting an image she had only ever seen in pictures and she wondered if at one time he had smelled of the ocean as she had once smelled of factory grease and gunpowder. She pushed his hand away from her face, dropping her eyes to his lips then towards her room as she said,

"I don't have any fantasies that would concern you." Finnick chuckled, apparently finding her lack of care amusing or perhaps not buying her obvious lie. Every women in the Capitol wanted Finnick, she wasn't entirely different. Ricochet was not blind nor was she in denial. Finnick Odair was possibly the finest specimen of man she had ever seen, but she was not one to use money and power of position to take what she wanted. If Finnick Odair was to sleep with her she wanted it to be because he wanted to, not because Snow bought him. And the thought of that old man buying a man to sleep with her brought on a whole new wave of uncertainty and disgust she was not prepared to face right then.

"Alright then, we can talk," he said following her towards her bedroom. She paused and looked over her shoulder, her hair tickling her lips as she asked curiously,

"Oh and what would we talk about, Finnick Odair? Our times in the Arena? Our home districts?" Finnick smiled as he looked at his feet. His District must have been a soft spot for the Victor and so she chose to remain quiet on the matter of District Four and instead added, "I bet lips are very used to letting words slip free around that smile of yours." Finnick grinned as he shrugged and teased,

"Haven't heard any complaints yet." Ricochet spared him her usual half smile and continued into her room, she let the towel slip away from her body as she walked to a tall dresser that held all her under clothes and sleepwear. She was vaguely aware of Finnick watching her every move with that grin still on his face as he leaned against the doorframe and teasingly asked, "Any secrets you'd like to share?" Ricochet paused while pulling her underclothes from a drawer to look at him. He raised his eyebrows as if propositioning her, promising she could tell her darkest secrets and just fall into those stunning sea eyes and drown. She felt her eyes tighten in suspicion as she turned to dress.

"That's dangerous, Odair," she said snapping her bra in place and walking to the closet to find a gown. Snow sent Finnick he almost certainly managed a banquet of some sort. Finnick walked over, loosely dropping his hands to her hips and holding her to him as she looked for a gown in the small collection of regal wear she owned. She never was one for gowns and dresses, all the ones she owned were picked by Stylists and she knew she was going to be at a loss when it came to her hair and makeup.

"What is? Asking you to spill your soul to me?" he asked sliding his hands along her back, she tensed when his finger fell along her scar and she instinctively threw her elbow back to knock into his face, but Finnick was a Victor as well and all too easily put a hand up to catch her elbow and duck under a fist she offered in retaliation. He spun under her arm to stand facing her a bit away his hands up in a defensive and helpless gesture letting her know he meant nothing by his actions. She stood facing him with a slight snarl on her lips and her hands up ready to fight as he took a half step back.

Finnick knew how sensitive Victors were about the Games. The fact Ricochet kept her scars spoke loudest to the fact she never wanted to forget the hell the Arena gave, maybe it was her way of remembering the faces of those she put in the ground or maybe it was just her reminder of how human she was in fact. Finnick himself knew what it was like to wake up in the dark of a night screaming and wondering if he was more Man or more Beast. He still wondered sometimes if he was nothing more than a well-dressed monster.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he said with his hands still up trying to look as helpless as he could, even offering an over-dramatic pout. Ricochet slowly lowered her hands and gaze, her heart still echoed loudly in her ears as she closed her eyes and absently put a hand to the side of her head. Finnick took a step toward her, his hand finding her arm that she instantly yanked from his grasp. He watched her a moment as she gave a slight shake of her head, throwing memories of midnight attacks and back stabbings from her head as she looked at the dresses again. They weren't the attire of an Arena; they were the garb of a Victor. She did what she had to so she could survive and she was damn good at it. There was no reason for her to feel shame for that, so instead she continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.

"It's dangerous for you to tell me your plans," she said pulling out a stunning fitted green gown. The gown left her back and shoulders bare, but since she planned on letting her hair remain down for once she wasn't concerned about the scars. And to hell if they saw it. If they didn't like her scars they could look away and worry about their own damn vanity and leave her pride to her.

Finnick laughed amused by her seemingly paranoid though process as he said,

"I was unaware that I gave any plans away." He fell onto Ricochet's bed to watch her dress, admiring the predatory roll of her shoulders and the constriction of her back muscles under the youthful skin as she knelt to step into the gown and pull it up. Her hips had a gentle roll to them as she wiggled the dress higher onto her body then zipped herself in. The contours of her hips and waist were unmistakable. As her dark hair fell to cover her slender back, she glanced over her shoulder at him. The green of the dress made the green of her eyes even fiercer as she spoke,

"Practically bragging about the loose lips of women around you? I can guess that you," she turned and very slowly, deliberately, walked to him with hips swaying teasingly, "you use your charm and physique to bed the highest ranking Capitol women and in the throes of expensed passion you lull them into a comfortable plane where the darkest secrets of not only themselves but their husbands tumble to your ears. I can only imagine the secrets you know of Snow's closest employees and the Capitol's government officials, the secret knowledge that must be locked in your head," she cooed by then kneeling in front of Finnick with her hands on either side of his lap. Finnick kept his smile but it didn't shine through his eyes as it done before. The more he tried to look as though she were completely off track the more it was obvious to her she was spot on. He spared an amused laugh, looking away and then back at her as if he couldn't believe she was serious, but she wasn't fooled.

"You've been in the Capitol too long, you're highly suspicious," Finnick tried to counter but Ricochet flashed a knowing smirk, that gentle upturn of her lips looking devious and dangerous as she slowly straightened and placed a hand on the curve of her hip. She was gorgeous and even in a gown she had the look of a killer. Finnick wouldn't be surprised if she had knives already hidden in the lining of the gown.

"It's not suspicion, Finnick Odair, it's mere survival. You're surviving the Capitol by gathering information that will keep you and your loved ones alive if needed," she said narrowing her eyes almost impressed, "You are by far the deadliest man I have come across."


	5. Chapter 5

Finnick watched as Ricochet wordlessly adjusts the fitted skirt of her gown, a high slit slithered up the length of her left leg revealing a large portion of her thigh when she moved across to her vanity.

"I wouldn't say I'm deadly by any means," Finnick tried to recover as he shifted on the bed. The blankets still felt stiff as if she had never even once pulled them loose to sleep under, although with a job such as hers sleep probably was the last thing on her mind at any given moment.

Ricochet gave a scoff, he could see her rolling her eyes in the mirror's reflection and he shook his amused at how childish this killer or killers could be. As she pulled her hair over a shoulder to brush the shine into, the angry and jagged scar along her back was impossible to ignore. It was bright against her sun kissed skin and clearly tended to for survival rather than appearance. No doubt in Finnick's mind that the scar was a constant reminder of the games. The curved bodice of the gown hid the scar over her breast and yet allowed for the perfect amount of cleavage to be presented. She wasn't overly showy or exposed as other Capitol women had been, he remembered one woman had worn practically nothing just thin see-through netting. Ricochet, however, looked classy and refined and best of all subtle.

"You're a Victor, we are by definition deadly," she said absently piling her hair up to weigh her options. If she did pull it up, she didn't have many options. She only knew how to style her uniform bun, braid and unceremoniously pile it all on her head with pins, bows, clips and bands. Nothing as regal as her gown, but she wasn't sure leaving it all down would be alright either.

"I prefer to think we're merely reactive," Finnick said as he smoothly stood up from the bed and walked to stand behind Ricochet. Her vanity held only the minimal of essentials: a soft foundation with gold flecks for a shine; dark charcoal eye liner of blue, green and black; eye pastels of all the colors of her gowns; a gloss of every flavor and color for her lips and a stunning bronze colored skin paint for intricate designs painted across her body. In comparison to other vanities and bathrooms he had seen she was living in extreme minimalism.

"Reactive, huh?" Ricochet mumbled thoughtfully as she let the hand holding her hair up fall to her lap. "I didn't react as much as act," she confessed as images of her stealthy attacks flashed her mind, her creeping footsteps unheard in the jungle terrain as she leapt into a tree just to fall onto a Tribute or crept along the dark to where the enemy slept. She was first move, first kill really. The others may have reacted in a means of self-preservation but Ricochet killed, plain and simple.

"But overall you did because your life was at stake," Finnick reassured as he slid his fingers through Ricochet's silky hair. She tensed at first, but the sensation of Finnick's fingers gently tugging the tangles free while lightly scratching the nape of her neck was so comforting and soothing she couldn't resist very long. She chose not to argue with him over her reasons or intentions when entering the Games and instead let her eyes linger over his reflection. The gentle yet sharp features of his strong jaw and the slope of his nose, if he had more paint and color and gall he would have most definitely been a Capitol son born and raised. It was no wonder why he was one of Snow's more popular pets to buy and trade among the elite.

She felt her skin begin to crawl as she remembered the three years she had to wait before joining the Capitol Guard, the blur of nights tangled in silken sheets and on fur rugs in front of blazing fires. Mouths gasping, hands grasping, nails clawing and skin dragging along skin- her stomach dropped and absently dug nails into the wood of her chair as she swallowed heavily and kept her eyes locked on Finnick's reflection.

Facial hair scraping along her young smooth skin; teeth tugging and nipping along her neck and chest; the dull nails of well-manicured Capitol men clawing at whatever cloth was between her and them.

Finnick caught Ricochet's staring and flashed a charming smile as he began sectioning off her hair, teasing,

"Dashing aren't I?" Ricochet blinked as the panting and breathy moans faded out of her ears giving way to the deep caress of Finnick's voice. She gave a snide smile at his question and teased back,

"I've seen better." He put a hand to his chest as if he were physically wounded and took a stumble back. She couldn't help but laugh softly at his ridiculously hurt expression, his lower lip jutted out and his eyebrows arched up as if he were mimicking a kicked puppy.

"That hurts, Ricochet. You can be incredibly hurtful, you know," he informed in a tight voice before sniffling and wiping imaginary tears from his cheeks. She ducked her head to hide her smile and quiet her laugh, but he saw it and leaned down so he was cheek to cheek with her, a bright and genuine smile on his face, "Now that is the beauty I've heard about. You're much more approachable with a smile."

She glanced at him and then looked into the mirror simply replying,

"I'm not paid or kept to be approachable."

"Oh? What are you kept for?" Finnick asked as he began twisting and lacing the sectioned hair into an intricate but comfortable maze along the back of her head. Ricochet glanced at his moving hands in the mirror and frowned as she asked in disbelief,

"Are you- are _knotting_ my _hair_?" Finnick paused as if he just realized his hands were moving and looked at the hair in his hands and then Ricochet's flaming eyes and set jawed expression. He looked between the mirror and the woman sitting in front him slowly straightening as he drawled with a very disconcerting,

"Uh." Finnick offered a weak laugh and shifted his feet. "I- I tie knots a lot back home," he offered as if that would sustain her frustration with having her hair knotted up. Ricochet felt mostly annoyance over her hair, she was mostly annoyed at how long it would take her to untangle once this banquet was over.

"Seems like a very personal bit of information, Finnick," she said instead situating herself to better be in his reach. Finnick blinked surprised he wasn't dead, to be perfectly honest. He had always heard stories, and secrets, of seeing how completely unhinged and easily ignited the young Presidential Guard was, but from what he had witnessed she was rather laid back and unreactive unless he touched her.

"A lot of people know of my knot tying habit, it's not as well kept a secret as most would expect," he said while reaching over Ricochet's shoulder reach for the sparkling hair pins. As he began to pin the strands in place, Ricochet drummed her fingers thoughtfully along her vanity's surface.

"I chew on my fingers," she said suddenly. Finnick hummed absently before giving her his full attention. Only a few strands fell from his exquisite knotted hairstyle but the way they fell gave her the absentminded and offhanded beauty she always had, as if she weren't even trying to succeed as well as she was. She took his hum as a request to repeat herself and without looking at him, she lifted her bruised and raw fingers as she repeated, "When I'm nervous or upset, I chew my fingers."

Finnick took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each and every fingertip with the softest kiss as she watched him with the most bizarre amazement. As he lowered her hand he smiled and said,

"Don't worry, no one will be looking at your hands," he gently turned her head so she could see the intricate and perfect hairstyle Finnick had created with his nervous knot-tying. Her awe was hardly hidden; her lips turned up ever so slightly at both corners, her eyes lightened and her shoulders perks back as she leaned in a bit to tilt her head in various ways to admire the tangling, twisting and looping design Finnick had made. "I guess you're making me nervous turned out for the best, hm?"

Before Ricochet could respond, there was a sound at her door signaling someone had arrived. She assumed it was her escort or at least a servant come to inform her of the dinner Snow planned. She didn't move, though, because Finnick promised to get it for her and promptly left her to her own selfish admiring.

Finnick crossed the shockingly bare sitting area to the stunningly flawless steel door. He opened the door and childishly peeked around the corner cooing,

"Yes? How may the fantastic Odair service you this evening?"

A very tall and muscular man stood there with an expression that was everything but amused. He had a vicious scar over his right eye and short grey hair that stuck out in various directions. He must have been a general or something for Capitol's army. He stood with a back straight a board and his heels were together and he leaned awkwardly to the right trying to see past Finnick and into the apartment.

"I was asked to escort Ms. Sanders to a banquet in her honor," he said in a raspy and gruff voice. Finnick frowned at the harsh sandpaper sound the man used as a voice and decided to play around a bit while he could. He straightened to occupy the space between the doorframe and the door completely obstructing the other man's view in Ricochet's apartment.

"Ah well it seems she's been double booked then," Finnick said slightly _tsk_ing under his breath as he drummed his fingers on the frame. "See, I was personally given the request of providing Ms. Sanders with all her birthday dreams and therefore _I _will be escorting her to this banquet." He offered a charming grin as he leaned forward a bit and jokingly added in a loud whisper, "Between you and I, she may need my help merely standing." He wasn't going to clarify if he was implying he was the cause of Ricochet's sudden difficulty in walking or if she was just unused to wearing heels, but by the man subtle grin and raspy chuckle, he had made his own decision and so Finnick gave a wink and leaned back into the apartment.

The man suddenly cleared his throat and said,

"Even so, Mr. Odair, my orders were clear. I will escort you both to the banquet hall once Ms. Sanders is ready."

"Ready as she'll ever be," Ricochet said behind Finnick as he opened his mouth to respond. Finnick absently swung the door wider as he turned to look at Ricochet, and both men felt their jaws drop. Ricochet had lined her eyes in shimmering green that caused her eyes to shine dangerously from under her dark and full eyelashes. Her pouted lips were lightly glossed and bronze heels that laced up her calf making her legs look longer and leaner. She could put Capitol models to shame as she stood there, a bare leg jutting out from the long slit in the gown and glitter sparkling across her exposed chest. She looked up from smoothing the skirt over her thighs and quirked an eyebrow, smirking at the slack jawed expressions of both the Sex Symbol of District 4 and one of the commanding officers of her own brigade. "Pick up your jaws boys, you'll need them to eat."


	6. Chapter 6

Finnick gave his head a shake as did the general as Ricochet brushed a lose strand of hair from her eyes and she walked over to the men, fussing over her bodice. She wasn't used to the ribbed corset cinching her waist and boosting her bosom and she certainly wasn't used to people ogling her as Finnick and the general were.

Finnick slid an arm around her tightened waist and smiled a genuine and rather sweet smile as he sincerely told her how stunning she looked. She couldn't stop from rolling her eyes and boyishly blowing at her hair to get it out of her eyes. Finnick chuckled and they both looked at the general who looked like he was poured into the suit he wore. His face was beginning to turn red from either lack of oxygen or just the embarrassment at getting caught gawking at a high officer was unknown, but Ricochet decided to end the awkward silence by saying,

"Well? You escorting us to this thing or not?"

The general gave a start before nodding and turning to lead the two down the elevator and through the many halls of Snow's mansion. The hallways were imperative to Snow's safety; hall that led to walls and down into trap doors and outside zigzagged and twisted along the hallways that lead to legitimate rooms. There was an entire week dedicated to merely showing people around the mansion when they started working here so that they may learn all the panic rooms, the meeting rooms, the offices and of course Snow's pride and joy- the banquet hall.

Finnick kept glancing to Ricochet as they walked down the elegantly decorated hallways with the tall ceilings and ornate sculptures. Her heels were muffled by the soft rug under their feet, but she moved as fluidly in the heels as she did in combat boots. She seemed more precise however, her body had a natural tension to it just waiting to be released and her eyes darted to every dark corner as if anticipating coming across something.

"You should wear a dress more often, Ricochet," Finnick teased gently tugging her close to his side with a hand at her hip. She glanced at him, away from a balcony, and teased in response,

"You should stop talking. Things like you are better seen and not heard." Finnick frowned a bit at being referred to as a 'thing' but being in the presence of so many Capitol natives, he figured it was best. It was going to be hard enough not to run into someone he knew through his secret activities and even harder to act as if he was unashamed of it all. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck sharing bedding stories with Ricochet while dancing.

"But if I stopped talking, how would I charm you?" he asked as they stepped into the sparkling banquet hall. It was another domed room with the largest chandelier in the country hanging overhead, what seemed to be a million diamonds sparkling in the light. A table was set up along every wall assorted with as many foods as there were people in the Capitol and a table for drinks. It just as it would be for the Victor's Tour.

A few dozen of Snow's highest officials stood with their spouses on the well-polished dancing floor, the tiles shining with all the colors of suits, gowns, hair and lighting from both Capitol citizens and the decorations Snow had put up. There was a large six layer cake and a banner that read 'Happy Birthday, R.S'

Snow walked forward and gestured grandly to everything he had prepared for his personal protection, the protégé of the Capitol's forces. She gave a half smile, looking around once more as Snow held his hand out for her. She stepped away from Finnick to take it, letting Snow pull her arm under his as he walked to the front of the room where a small stage stood. Snow often used the stage for the live music and speeches he held during meetings and the like, but for tonight it was to honor the woman that kept him alive.

"This is all too much, Mr. President. I'm your Guard not your daughter," she said glancing away from the leering eyes and flashing subtle glares to the men under her command that had the gall to smile at her as Finnick had done. She did not dress for their entertainment or their visual pleasure, she dressed to appease the dress-code Snow had no doubt enforced for such a gathering and nothing else. Well- maybe she tried a bit harder to compete with her escort Finnick Odair, but that was it.

"You've saved my life how many time, my dear?" he asked gently turning her around on the stage to face the crowd. She was still on his left. Most men had found her habit of always standing to Snow's left a mindless habit, but she made it a point to be as close to the man's heart as she could be. Any shot to his head, heart and body she could very easily deflect but she knew most shots would be to his heart and therefore she wanted to always be on that particular side.

Her gown caught the light in a stunning shimmer of bronze sparkles as she turned and then shifted to stand comfortably beside Snow, replying without a moment's hesitation,

"Ten."

"Ten times you've saved my life and thus the Capitol's and you yet you still don't see this as a worthy celebration?" She lowered her eyes and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, instinctively taking in every dark window around the banquet hall and every Avox in white as Snow spoke to the crowd, "Today we celebrate the birthday of one my most loyal and dedicated soldiers. She has saved the Capitol more times than any of us could realize and is one of the most renowned Victors we have to date. Not a soul in this room can say they do not owe this woman in some way or another," his voice boomed with power and the subtle dare to have someone question his statement.

Finnick stood within the crowd beside a Gamemaker with his hands tucked behind him and a proud smile on his face. Ricochet, after all, was his date for the night. Or rather, he was hers, but he knew it was still an honor and therefore he was to be the proudest member of the collective party. The Gamemaker beside Finnick was already munching on some sort of meat dish as he watched the announcement. He spared a chuckle when Snow mentioned having to thank Ricochet for an assortment of things and he elbowed Finnick in the ribs,

"Much like the women here have to thank you, aye boy?" His accent was garbled as if he always spoke with a mouthful of food and saliva glistened on his fattened lips. His eyes eyes had been dyed a vibrant purple and his face painted a vague gold, all in all he was hardly an attractive man as he scarfed down his food. He wasn't heavy by any means, no on in the Capitol was, but by the man's eating habits Finnick knew he was only slim thanks to a surgeon's blade.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Finnick said with a friendly smile as he leaned down a bit to better hear the man. He gave a laugh and explained,

"If Seneca were here he'd have stories that'd make you drag that woman to a corner not caring who saw." Finnick frowned in confusion. "She's insatiable that one. Sure she stands there in her little gown as if she owns every person in this room but get her behind closed doors and she's just an anxious little kitten willing to do anything if it means to please a man."

"She was only fifteen when she was a Victor, she wasn't of age to be-," Finnick started as knot began to form in his stomach. The Gamemaker gave a laugh as he said,

"Look around Finnick, my boy. She didn't climb those ranks of brute force alone, she climbed the ranks starting from the sweet age of sixteen." Finnick spared a glanced around the crowd and suddenly saw the men watching Ricochet with eyes like hungry wolves, some daring to lick their lips or slid a hand over their suits as they shifted. Their looks were that of familiarity, the looks Finnick himself faced every time he set a foot in the Capitol and the looks he so desperately had wanted to avoid. "I didn't get a chance to request her company before Snow swept her away as his own," the Gamemaker scoffed, "He can be such a selfish man that Snow, he stopped circulating Ricochet the year she took on his personal protection."

"That was only two year ago, so for four years she was-," Finnick let the sentence linger as the man nodded genuinely saddened by Ricochet's short life as a traded pet.

"I could live off the stories alone," the Gamemaker went on as he sipped his wine after a toast to Ricochet's life and health and success in guarding Snow. "Just take a few spare moments to speak to these men, you'll be itching to get her to bed. Seneca said she was best if you got her a bit under the red," he lifted his wine glass to imply getting Ricochet drunk was the best way of getting her to agree. Finnick stared at the wine as he straightened and quickly scanned the crowd when he realized Ricochet and Snow were no longer on the stage and as the music began to swell into overpowering hum, Finnick felt a sort of panic set in.

Women didn't talk of him as blatantly as men would talk of Ricochet. Women were subtle and would talk more of his gentle caresses or the words he purred before he slept with them, never how and what they actually did, but men. Men were entirely different and the way that Gamemaker spoke of Ricochet was disgusting. He spoke of her as if she were a slab of meat and to the men in the Capitol, before her high ranking position, that was all the young woman was. She was something to buy and trade, to experience and then spread along like a fine meal. There would be men in this crowd that had never met Ricochet but would know exactly how she felt, smelled and even tasted to the most diploriable detail.

Finnick excused himself from the Gamemaker's presence and began quickly weaving and ducking through the crowd trying to find where Ricochet had been carted off to. He had to find her. If he could only just keep her away from the wolves that had already had a taste and from the wolves wanting one, he would feel much better about everything he had done and said on his own.

Ricochet was pulled into a dance by Snow's advisor, Hamlin, who held her a bit too tightly to his body as they twirled. She frowned as his hand lightly caressed her hip while he pulled her in step with him. His thin lips were too moist and the scent of cologne had her head spinning it was so strong.

"You've grown, my sweet," he purred in this raspy and disconnected way. He wasn't shy about his leering, pointedly looking down the front of her gown when he had her close enough and adding, "You didn't have much of these last were together."

"You speak of it as if it were a mutual and well-mannered encounter," she growled with a slight snarl on her face. She no longer had to put up with men like Hamlin. She was the deadliest soldier the Capitol had to offer, and Hamlin didn't forget that when he saw her walking around in uniform, but now that she was in a gown it seemed she was back to the disillusioned and emotionless teenager just trying to fall in on herself to forget the world.

"For what I had to pay for you it might as well have been mutual, no other woman is quite like you," he said smiling revealing teeth that were too white. "You mewl like a kitten you know, in your sleep and those nails of yours- I think I still have the marks. The first buy is always the most memorable isn't it my sweet?"

Ricochet's stomach was knotted and her eyes blazing as she tried to subdue the memory of that first night in the Capitol, when Hamlin had her. His cologne bathing her in a musk fog she never quite crawled out of and the sting of the back of his hand when she accidentally bit or moved wrong or flinched in pain. She didn't look away from him, kept an even tone as she replied,

"Sorry Hamlin, but I suppose it wasn't memorable as you had hoped. I only recall the stink of that cheap cologne, you should spend more on your cologne and less on woman who forget you so easily." Hamlin pulled back to retaliate, or possibly threaten her with the video they both knew he had, but before the man could utter a word Finnick appeared and gently pulled Ricochet back towards him.

"My apologies, my good sir, but I was requested to accompany Ricochet well into the marrow," he said glanced at Ricochet as she not-too subtly slid the blade back into the wristband she wore around her wrist. She did have knives hidden on her after all. Hamlin saw the knife and then looked at Finnick as he smiled,

"With the way you pleased women and the way she obeys men, I'm sure you'll have your hands full tonight, Victor. She has a lot of little secrets about her. Best drink up," he held up a glass of wine he pulled from a tray and downed it, all the watching Ricochet for a reaction she never gave. As far as Hamlin was to be concerned, she didn't remember a thing about him.


	7. Chapter 7

Ricochet narrowed her eyes at Hamlin; her jaw set tight causing a deep ache to settle in the hinges of her mouth as Finnick led her away. His voice was deeper than it had been earlier, as if he knew her anger and disgust and couldn't hide his own, but he whispered nothing of their encounter instead he said,

"Dance with me." Ricochet was twirled to face Finnick, a man that seemed to have matured into a grown man rather than a flirtatious boy in mere minutes. His eyes seemed harder, a bit darker as if a storm was on the verge of breaking free but still he smiled. Ricochet glanced over her shoulder, feeling the slime of tens of men staring at her, but she placed her hand on Finnick's shoulder and the other in his grasp. He held her close but their bodies didn't touch as he sweetly led her step to step.

She stumbled a bit, accidentally stepping on his feet with muttered apologies as he tried to lead her. Finnick didn't seem to mind, but rather he was amused and eager to teach her. He slowed the pace of the dance and moved with more direct and foreseeable steps, but Ricochet couldn't seem to get the hang of it. She felt against Finnick's chest after tripping and he steadied her while some other dancer laughed softly at her plight. She glanced around with slight annoyance trying to spot the people who had laughed at her but they were already off twirling somewhere else possibly with someone else. Finnick gently straightened Ricochet and offered a smile as he said,

"Let's just go in a circle then. No fancy steps or anything like that just," he moved in a circle while spinning, "circles." Ricochet sighed but nodded in agreement and allowed Finnick to gently twirl them as he moved in a circle around the dance floor. Ricochet looked up from their feet to the twirling couples around them, all of them interweaving and easily switching partners as if they were on moving platforms. Not one step out of place. Not one movement jagged or thought out just fluid. Some women gave her spiteful expressions; some men eyed Finnick with great envy and her with grins that would make Tributes seem gentle but a great many them chuckled or hid laughs behind hands and ducking heads.

As the faces began to swirl and blur around her and Finnick's face faded from her view, all she could focus on was how much her blood boiled at what Hamlin had said, how she was treated. Her world began to fall away at her feet and the sensation of falling began to surround her. Finnick seemed to be spinning faster and faster, her body getting lighter and lighter as she tried to focus on any given face but only finding Hamlin's in a crowd of hyenas. Men throwing their heads back to laugh and fingers reaching out to graze against her bare skin, over her scar.

Her ears buzzed with their heated promises of power and revenged; understanding and love. She heard all of their voices, young and old, deep and high, breathy and strong, blurring together in a chorus of their promises. Everything was going to be different. Everyone was going to love her. No one would question her. She would be powerful. She would be loved. She would be famous and admired. All she had to do was listen to them, they would teach her how. They would show her how. They would love her.

But they didn't love her. None of them did. They all punished her for not sounding right. They all hated her for not doing it right. They all detested her for not feeling it right. They lied to her, just as everyone had ever done, and they didn't love her, just as everyone had done. They used her. They threw her away. And suddenly all she could hear were their moans, their yelling, their growling- they're laughing going around and around and around her head. Faces blurring behind her eyelids, all twisted in forms of amusement as they watched her try to be one of them. Laughing as she fumbled over steps she never learned. Laughing as she tried so hard to be as beautiful as they were, as gifted as they were, as stunningly made-up and artistic and rich and friendly and charming and twisted and sick and demeaning-.

She suddenly shoved Finnick away from her, spinning a bit as she turned away from him and tried to balance herself. Finnick stumbled a few steps back but caught himself easily. He watched as Ricochet grabbed a short round glass from a tray and then another. As she downed both of them, the molten liquid brought a relieved burning sensation to her mouth, dragging it down to blossom through her chest before warming her stomach. Her head gave an instant sway of rebellion but the fire of the liquor burned away half the voices ringing in her ears and smoldered the faces behind her lids. Another two glasses and she no longer remembered what it was that had her muscles so tense. As hands fell onto the swell of her hips, she turned with a fist ready only to find Finnick was the one holding her curiously, his sea colored eyes holding only concern.

"Maybe we should go," he offered wanting her to find the comfort and confidence she felt when he first met her, he didn't like seeing her so out of place. Ricochet shook her head, grabbing another glass, this time of wine, from the tray and gesturing with it.

"Don't be ridiculous, we haven't even had cake yet," she said walking up to Finnick to offer him the wine. He took it with a practiced smile. Ricochet gave her half smile, her eyes cold and distant as if on some other planet. "There, enjoy yourself Finnick Odair. We were once paid to." He frowned around the lip of the wine glass before Ricochet gave a glance around and something caught her eye. She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly; he could all but see the wheels of her mind turning as she intently watched something or other. He thought at first she saw the cake Snow had gotten her, but instead of moving towards it she excused herself and left into the crowd, unceremoniously shoving aside anyone that came near her. Finnick glanced around as he continued to sip his wine, his free hand in the pocket of his trousers as he wondered what he should be doing aside from standing there.

Ricochet slid her shoes off before her heels could give her away. Hamlin was in one of the hallways leading, she guessed, to the restroom. He had another wine glass in his hand and was walking as if he hadn't a care in the world and why should he? He was Snow's advisor and got away with a lot including somewhat slenderizing comments about Snow himself, but seeing has how she had never received orders from Snow to kill him and the man had made no obvious threat to Snow, she put up with him. But he pushed a nerve tonight, bringing up memories she had long since laid to rest, and just the presence of him became problematic to her.

"Hamlin," she said once she was right behind the man. He turned and instantly let out a breathy gasp when her fingers jabbed him in the chest hard, a knife would have caused the same initial pain in Hamlin's book. His heart gave a spasm as she slid the knife from her wrist to gently run down his cheek, those glossy eyes wide and pupils dilated as he tried to catch his breath again. "You are about to suffer from a massive cardiac arrest. See what I have done is interrupt your heart's natural beat thus causing it to spasm which will soon result in its involuntary shut down. You will be completely aware of everything that is happening to you. Your breathing will never regulate. Your body will slowly become cold and you may even feel spasms through your hands and feet," she watched him fall to the floor gripping her wrist with trembling hands as she knelt down to watch him. "You will slowly lose consciousness due to lack of oxygen and the worst part?" She leaned down to grip his chin and offer that dangerous half smile of hers, her eyes glowed as they reflected the light of a nearby candle and Hamlin gasped pitifully as his heart raced faster and faster. "No one in the entire world will even acknowledge your pitifully natural death."

She pushed the man to the floor, offering a sharp and violent jab to his chest again sending another electric spasm through the man as she straightened.

"You're not even worth watching die," she told him coolly with that haunting half smile back on her lips, the Victor coming out in full as she simply turned on her heel and walked back to the party, leaving Hamlin twitching and gagging on the floor unable to make a sound or move until his heart finally quit and he died. The Capitol always feared not being seen, not being remembered, fading away without one person remembering their style and wealth and life. Ricochet played off that by denying Hamlin even the opportunity of having her watch him die as she had done every Tribute and assassin she had killed before. No, instead she showed him just how little he meant to her and walked off without even a second glance. That half smile was permanently on her lips as she walked away with her shoulders back and head up high.

No, she wasn't like the Capitol elite. She didn't know how to accessorize with the perfect gown. She couldn't dance and she didn't know anything about politics and fashion. She was a killer. She was a protector.

And that was one thing she would always be good at.

Finnick looked over from the food table as Ricochet stepped up beside him reaching over to pick up a strawberry from a platter. Her voice was steady and cool compared to the emotional state she seemed to have been in before. Finnick watched curiously as she lightly bit into the juicy fruit, the juice spilling over her plush lips as she pulled the remaining bit away. Finnick absently popped another grape in his mouth as he looked away trying to seem unphased by her sudden change in personality.

"We should go," Ricochet said as she licked her lips and popped the last half of her strawberry between her lips.

"Go? Don't be ridiculous, you haven't had cake yet," Finnick said mocking her previous statement. He expected a scoff or the usual glare he got when he used to tease her, but she didn't even seem to notice. A voice broke out of the crowd and a mob of Capitol guests too to the hallways, a mass of voices rising in panic and confusion. Finnick watched them all rush by him to swarm the nearby hallway. "What's going on over-?" Finnick glanced at Ricochet who was calmly spreading a cheese over a slice of bread. She didn't even glance up when a woman's scream pierced the ballroom followed by security booming,

"Please back away from the area. There is nothing to see here." Finnick stared in complete confusion as he looked from the mob to Ricochet, now munching the bread as if nothing were going on around her all. He narrowed his eyes curiously when she looked at him and she just smile.

She just _smiled._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I rewrote chapters 6 and 7 very subtly. You don't have to go back because I think all I did was change a word in 6 and add a sentence in 7 but even such subtle changes will play a big role later on in the fiction. **

**Also thanks to everyone who is reading and to Sukii-Sama for all the reviews. **

**Enjoy!**

It was strange seeing a smile on the lips of Ricochet Sanders. As long as Finnick had remembered seeing her, it was always the half smile and the brief smile she had in her room, but nothing like what she wore then. An impish almost playful smile with eyes glistening as if she had the biggest secret to tell and was hoping no one would notice because it was ready to erupt inside her.

They stared at each other for the longest time, Finnick studying her close as she licked cheese from her glossed lips smiling childishly. It was possibly the most alluringly terrifying thing Finnick had ever seen, like watching a shark stalk a seal. Finding yourself memorized by the elegant force and strength of the shark, trapped by the deadly beauty and all the while fighting every nerve in your body inciting the flee response, terrified by the very deadly force that was attracting you.

"Ricochet, what did you do?" he asked narrowing his eyes a bit and glancing over her head to where the swarm of people were slowly dissipating. Ricochet didn't glance over; she quietly finished her slice of bread and licked her fingertips. The Capitol's Peacekeepers began to break up the crowd and instantly started walking towards himself and Ricochet. Finnick felt a panic bubble in his chest as ricochet took the glass of wine still in his hand and sipped calmly. Her smile was gone but her eyes still danced as she turned to face the oncoming Peacekeepers, Snow following in step from the throng of onlookers whispering among themselves.

Finnick couldn't still his hands from reaching out for Ricochet and gently pulling her to him as the Peacekeepers neared. He didn't think she had anything to worry about, seeing as how she was so high up in the social chain, but he didn't like the idea of leaving her to face whatever it was the Peacekeepers and Snow had in store. Snow flashed a smile and Ricochet nodded her head and feigned confusion as she asked,

"Something steal the attention from your lovely party, sir?" Finnick shifted his weight, in any District any more than one Peacekeeper in one place was far too many and this duo was accompanied by Snow himself. The Peacekeepers didn't spare a glance to Ricochet but they kept a hard look on Finnick causing him to straighten and tense out of reflex. He felt threatened and he didn't know why but he didn't like it.

Snow offered a deep chuckle, as if the horror of his banquet had bothered him as much as it seemed to have bothered Ricochet. He lifted his head and glanced to his guests as they slowly began stepping closer to the little group now left alone in the ballroom. He looked at Finnick then Ricochet as he joked,

"Hamlin is stealing your spotlight, my dear." He was joking. About a dead man. His own advisor seemed to be dead and he was joking with Ricochet.

"Hm," Ricochet hummed as she took a calm and relaxed sip of wine, "best cut the cake then." Snow laughed, really laughed, his head bent back and he put a hand to his stomach as he laughed. Finnick's skin felt drenched in some sort of slime. It was possibly the scariest sound he had ever heard. The man that has been the cause of thousands of deaths in the Districts, both through Games and poor leadership, was laughing- about a man's death.

"Hear that?" he turned to his guests and gestured grandly as he said with a smile, "The birthday girl wants her cake so let's have cake!" An eruption of applause sounded, suddenly and overpowering anything else as everyone resumed the dancing and laughing, some rushing to the table with the towering cake as the band picked up their sheet music and continued without missing a beat. The Peacekeepers stayed with Snow to report the findings to Ricochet, possibly because they weren't sure if she had to move Snow or if there was a killer. Finnick wondered if they had even for a second considered they were looking at the killer.

"Hamlin Trous was just found in the hallway dead," one of the Peacekeepers informed her with a stiff voice. She humored them while sipping her wine,

"Any wounds? Stab wounds, bruising, and broken bones anything of that sort? Lacerations?" She spoke with such detached indifference he wondered if she had ever cared about a living thing in her life. She was brutal during the Games, no allies and just killing one after another after another. She was sought and she would seek. There really hadn't been a time when she was just looking for water or food; she was always looking for a body to add.

"No ma'am, we won't know cause until we examine him," one said with the other quickly echoing,

"We felt we should tell you in case this had any effect on your festivities." Ricochet finished the wine and laid the glass down before plucking a grape out of Finnick's palm to slip between her lips, shrugging her shoulder heavily.

"Not really no," she said boredly before walking towards Snow who was holding a hand out to her. Finnick followed as she added, "Find me if there is cause to deem this murder." The Peacekeepers bowed at the waist and hurried off as Snow locked Ricochet's arm under his and led her towards the cake. Birthday Girl always got the first slice.

She glanced over at Finnick who was following close behind her, watching her body sway with agile strength, the scar on her back stretching and bunching the skin of her back as she moved. He couldn't really remember how she got it, if it was something she got from the Games at all. Most of her time in the Arena was shroud with rain and storm, she spent a great deal of her time shivering from cold and avoiding the swollen rivers.

That year was particularly hard on Annie to watch.

"Want some?" she asked him as she nodded to the cake. Finnick glanced up at the master piece in front of him, a tower of perfectly iced chocolate cake littered with tiny red rose buds falling along the side- like blood. The top was a ring of deep red roses around a plume of bright as snow white roses signifying Ricochet's singular job of protecting the President.

Finnick forced a smile as Snow slid the knife in Ricochet's hand, smiling as she all too absently twirled it between her fingers. She was at home with knives. She liked being up close and personal when killing. He preferred something he could throw, like his trident.

"I'll share with you if that's alright, you're more sugar than I can stand," he said winking at her. Snow smiled and nodded to Finnick as if he were pleased with what Finnick was doing. He smiled in return unsure how to take the gesture as some men around him chuckled- knowingly. Ricochet ignored the statement and the chuckles and in a blur of gorgeous precision and fluid motions, she had a large portion of the cake sliced in perfect, equal triangles.

Ricochet shifted her eyes to lock with Finnick's as she slowly ran the flat of her tongue along the blade, collecting all the icing and cake on the sharp metal as she watched Finnick pointedly. He watched, once again caught between finding her terrifying and gorgeous. She was dangerous, yes, but she was also beautiful- which just made her a bit too deadly in his book.

"Well the night is young, everyone enjoy your stay! Drink, eat and as always over indulge!" Snow said raising his arms to a chorus of cheers and toasts. Ricochet took the plate of cake offered to her, let Snow pull her close and kiss her temple. Finnick narrowed his eyes trying to focus his sight. He thought Snow whispered something in Ricochet's ear, something that immediately caused her to look at him, before she gave a curt nod of her head and wandered through the awaiting crowd to where he stood. She looked at him after taking the first, and probably only, bite of cake.

"I don't want to stand in here, it's too stuffy. Can we stand on the balcony?" she asked lifted her eyes, almost bashfully, up to his. Finnick chuckled and used the pad of his thumb to brush the icing off her upper lip.

"You just don't want me to try and teach you to dance again," he teased. Ricochet scoffed but began pushing the cake around her plate giving her away. Finnick chuckled and hooked an arm behind Ricochet's middle to lead her to the balcony. "I'll teach you later tonight, if you wish."

"No, I have a better idea for tonight," she said nodding her head with a half-smile. Finnick quirked an eyebrow as he pushed the balcony door open. Ricochet glanced over her shoulder to make sure someone was guarding Snow, when she was satisfied with whoever it was standing beside the President she nodded at Finnick.

"And this brilliant idea of yours?" he asked wanting to mentally prepare himself for whatever twisted fantasy the Killer of Killers could have rolling around her mind, but she didn't say anything. She continued to the railing of the balcony, taking in a deep breath of the chilled air and watching the mountains hide her from the rest of the world.

And nothing else was said.

Snow watched from his position in the ballroom. He made absentminded small talk, diffused any worries about an uprising in any District close to the Capitol, and watched Ricochet with the ever charming Finnick Odair.

"Quite a present Mr. President," a woman said as she fanned herself with a lacey hand fan. She wore a bodice one size too small with breasts that were painted a brilliant gold, along with the rest of her except for the vibrant silver around her blue eyes. "I know many of my friends crushed his entire visit is devoted to your little guard dog." Her voice was tight, Snow assumed it was because she wasn't breathing properly in her gown.

"Hardly a dog, she's in more than you are, Edina, and Finnick seems quite taken with her," Snow defended gruffly as he sipped his fine wine. Edina scoffed and began fanning herself furiously.

"I don't need to buy man's affections, President Snow," she informed as she turned to go, flashing the large assortment of fabric bunched over her bottom to make her seem more curvaceous than she was. Her short legs were elongated by the high and thick heels she wore that clicked and clacked as she stalked off adding, "I am doing quite well on my own with that." Snow didn't watch the woman go. He looked into his dark red wine, swirling it a bit before lifting his eyes to Ricochet and Finnick on the balcony. He lifted his head as he took a deep breath, muttering to himself,

"Make it work, Odair. Make it work."


End file.
